Poems

What The Christian Science Monitor brings to this side of the Atlantic is more than paper, ink, and words. There are ideas there, spiritual facts that evidence the precedence of the Christ in human thought.

It's Sunday morning. This hour is born of prayer.

No invitation needed, ready, waiting, in healing portions; digested, brings contentment— satisfies and heals. Fred Challinor.

Can a book be Gilead's balm healing the hurt of all mankind? Can a book be a guiding star brightening the path through dark chaos for weary seekers searching for the simplicity of Christ, Truth? Can a book be a pastor shepherding a flock through day's trials comforting through night's alarms? Yes. The little book can be these things.

A need is only the space shaped to receive a precise dispensation of grace. Inkling it is of an exact fit: not light diffused, not formless gift but substance scaled unerringly to match some further seek for it.

Nowhere too hard for me in Thy embrace; Nowhere too dark for me to see Thy grace; Nowhere too cold for me within Thy care; Nowhere too far for Thee to hear my prayer. Fenella Farrar Bennetts.

I am lodged in it: have taken up residence— permanently, you might say, for the arrangement is not an emergency one: no panic rush (as if to sandbagged bunker or trench) when the siren sounds and everybody else is caught, unprepared, in the terrible rain. This ark is my home.

"The Lord God omnipotent reigneth. " Five words only but transcendent truth enthroning Principle Life Love maintaining the presence of good eliminating sin pain lack.

Come, he said. I simply came.

Nothing moves me From the parapets of Truth. The storm may rage, The sea may roar, The wind bluster; Each blast my greater Faith to muster.